Anthology
by Coriana
Summary: She was all dressed-up to run away. -/- Oneshot Collection.
1. Food for Thought

Word Count: 1,404

Summary: Mirania's always had an obsession with food, but no one had ever asked why. Post-game

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Mirania had been in the mercenary group before Yurick had been added later on much later. He could never quite get a good reading on the girl when he first met her – and the hundred-or-so-times after that.

Every time he did see her, she always wore the same facial expression. Stagnant stillness. It was very easy to dislike that expression, which was a cross between looking at you condescendingly while mixed with serenity.

All he had really known was that she was a powerful holy mage, who seemed to have a deep connection with nature and silence. She'd always speak with a hushed lilt. She was gentle and her words were sincere and wise. With her noble face and demeanor, it would take remarkable imagination to figure out what she was doing in such a job trade.

He'd learned along with the other group members that Mirania had been a lone child, who had lost her parents very young and had been raised by a Guardian of the Forest, until the Guardian had passed due to the decreasing energy to the land. Mirania had made it her mission in life to find out the true meaning of the decaying land after she had lost her home.

In the end, _he_ certainly could not have come up with such a story.

Mirania had completed her journey, but it had been at a price that the small group of mercenaries still tried to release from their memories.

At the moment, Mirania and Yurick were having lunch in a little inn not too far from Lazulis (they were in Gurak territory, actually, and even though the peace treaty was very firm, he still couldn't stop being nervous about their presence). They were just passing through, after picking up some merchandise from the Gurak city for Ariela. Although, Mirania had insisted on stopping to eat.

Not that Yurick could really say she was lying about being hungry, after having to listen to her stomach make terrible, starving, screaming noises for about half-an-hour.

That was the one other thing about Mirania, was her food… thing.

Obsession was probably the right word.

Not only did she overly enjoy the taste of food, but also she had a marvelous ability to store it _somewhere_. He was pretty sure the yelling coming from her gut was actually a hidden black hole.

"Yurick, is something amidst? You're not eating your food."

"Hm? Oh, I just wasn't hungry."

"Would you mind if I cleared your plate for you, then?"

Seeing no choice in protesting, he pushed the plate over to her.

He realized that although he got her past in random moments from the rest of the group members, no one could ever tell him why she had such a fascination with food. No one probably cared themselves. Just another one of Mirania's quirks, no doubt.

Except now that it was on his mind…

"You're eating as if you've never tasted food before," he said, arms and legs crossed as he scrutinized her.

She shrugged as she continued eating, "I had never tasted food like this from my home-forest."

Now, really. Why hadn't that crossed his mind? Had he really _so_ little imagination?

Still, not much of an excuse for now having such an appetite. He himself came from poverty. Bread and cheese had become his staple diet for many weeks, with the occasional dried fish. Except he avoided the fish unless there was truly nothing else to consume. He hadn't wanted to see – much less eat – anything that smelled, felt, looked, or even_ reminded_ him of the ocean.

"So, did you eat grass and dirt? I'm assuming that the Guardian didn't let you eat any animals."

"Well, of course he did. I was still a predator and they the prey. It's the natural cycle of life; I thought you would know such a simple detail, Yurick."

Oh, please, there he was getting lectured again.

He was definitely done with this conversation, but suddenly she decided to be talkative around the food in her mouth. "I would eat very little meat, although. I mostly enjoyed fruits and berries, special herbs, leaves and roots, cold water and fresh fish. So… when I came here, to the human society, I had no idea what such a pleasurable experience food had turned out to become."

"Trust me, they make too much of a big deal of it."

"I just wanted to try everything that I was being offered, even if I couldn't afford it –" Yurick was _not_ going to ask, "–In no time, I had eaten cheese and drank milk from animals I hadn't even known existed. I had meat from all types of animals prepared in different ways with different sauces and side dishes. Potatoes, pumpkins, carrots. And there are so many other diverse types of fruits, too! Watermelons, tomatoes, pears, onions –"

"What?"

"–Oranges, lemons, limes. And berries! I was so used to simple, green berries, but there is such an assortment of berries, too. And there are just so many intriguing ways to prepare food, that it is unimaginable for a person like me from such a background of humble foods. Drinks have such stimulating flavors now, too. Hot drinks. All I ever could muster was cold teas with my spring water."

There was a stiff silence once Mirania actually fell quiet. She looked a little awkward, probably because she had spoken more than she had all week.

"So," Yurick said, "The true reason that you love food so much is because your palate was way too expensive for such a plain diet."

The look she gave him said that she just couldn't believe that he simplified her personal answer like that.

"What are your favorite foods, Yurick?"

"I've never given it any thought. Food's just food."

"Perhaps you should find that part about yourself out, then. What you like. You are missing out on a wonderful experience."

"I'm sure I am."

Finishing her plate (or his plate) of food, she pushed it aside and looked intently at her hands. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her knuckles were white from squeezing one another, her lips were a little bit lax.

Her change was so sudden and drastic, he couldn't figure out what she was feeling. Being a mage herself, though, he couldn't get anything from her emotion-wise, like he could from normal people.

"Are you all right?" he asked, leaning forward over the table until he could see her tilted-down face.

"I was just thinking…"

"Yeah, I assumed that. About what?"

"I feel like I'm running away from the teachings of my Guardian Parent. Neglecting it's rewarding, nutritious food for hand-prepared food with money in exchange."

She made it sound much worse when she put it like that.

"Well, Mirania, no one ever said that you still couldn't eat your home…forest's food. That's just what a varied diet means. Also, it's not like the food isn't coming from different parts of the land with different Guardians."

Mirania's eyes brightened so much, like Yurick had just solved world-peace single-handedly.

She was up and at the counter to pay for their meals, and out the door before Yurick truly processed that she just left.

Spotting her not too far from the inn, she was at a grocery stand – now really, hadn't they just eaten? – and it didn't take long to catch up with her. Especially since she met him half-way coming back.

"Hm? Yurick I thought I told you to stay put."

"No, you did not mention that fact."

"I didn't? I guess I forgot to say it. Here."

What she handed him was a basic, very lush red apple.

"These were the same type of apples at my home. I hope you can enjoy it. Food holds memories for me – I can remember events due to what I had eaten that day. Hopefully this apple will make you think of me."

He really didn't have anything to say to her about that, but she didn't seem to expect him to. She started trotting off, apparently whether he followed or not.

Rolling the apple back and forth in his hands, he pondered her words.

Because – of all people – _Mirania?_

Taking a bite of the apple, he found that the taste of it was sweeter and crisper than he had been anticipating.

Perhaps he could say that… he liked it.

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Welcome to my new collection! Each oneshot is complete in its own way, so that's why this story will be marked as complete at the beginning.

Thanks to author Therius to giving me the tidbit, because since I played the game too long ago, I've lost some of the fine details in my memory. (But I'll make sure not to tell my little brother that he had been right. ;)

I'll be writing any character/and situation, and will update whenever I have a story idea. I'll take requests, too, just in case you had any ideas you wanted to share. ^^


	2. Raging Ocean

Word Count: 594

Summary: You could never practice swimming enough to be prepared for being lost in an ocean during a raging thunderstorm.

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Swimming was never one of Zael's best skills. So being lost in the rampant vat known as the ocean was as good a reason as any to panic.

Though he refused to lose his calm, even though he was being surged back and forth with each malicious wave, having mini, drowning heart-attacks every time his head went under, and the inability to regain his vision each time he had his head above water before another splash hit him.

Being separated from Calista, however, was a pretty sheer good reason to panic.

Trying to shout her name was useless, for he kept getting mouthfuls of water instead. Not that shouting would do any good, since he could hardly hear himself over the pounding of rain on his hand and on the water all around him.

The tempest had turned the water into a sheet of liquid black glass. The chill drank from his energy reserves like he was accidentally drinking its salty water.

He kicked with his feet and leapt forward with his arms. Just how Dagran had taught him. Although Zael just had never thought that he would be using it under such dire circumstances. He would have practiced harder.

But there was no amount of practicing swimming in a calm bay, with water warmed by the sun, and a refreshing breeze accompanied by bird song, that could prepared you for the wicked side of an ocean during a storm created by Hell.

The water dragged him down again, farther this time, like something had grabbed his ankle and had made a practically nasty pull towards the darkest part of the sea. Kicking frantically and opening his mouth a little too wide from the cold savaging his chest, the gulp he took was too big and made him sputter against throwing the water back up and not taking a breath into his precious amount of air supply left in his lungs.

He broke the surface again, coughing up water and still swimming forward, his eyes never ceasing to move along the lines of the waves, searching for a body, whether it was moving or still.

Instead what came into his sight was a ship. The rational part of his mind knew it was an enemy ship, and that his chances were he would be better warring against the water than on the planks of a moving vessel.

His exhausted, oxygen-deprived body, which has taken in too much salt and was shivering uncontrollably, disagreed with what his mind had to say.

The movement of his body feebly started towards the ship, which was either his saving grace or a nightmare in its full splendor.

But his eyes never stopped searching for _her._

As he moved closer to the ship, he was afraid that if they spotted him, they would shoot him down without question, but there was no turning back at this point.

Another wave rammed into him, like being tackled by an oversized animal. He was slammed against the ship, making him bring up the rest of the salt water in his stomach from the blow. Voices from up above were sounded, and ropes were dropped down.

Hands grabbed at him and brought him up, but as they moved him, he slowly lost consciousness, like a peaceful tide ebbing until it couldn't reach the shoreline anymore.

The last thing he saw was being laid down on the ships boards. He saw a familiar pair of shoes that he just couldn't seem to place.

His last thoughts were more oppressing.

_Calista… where are you? _

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_Based on Chapter 38: Raging Ocean._


	3. Trapped

I never hated my Uncle before – until now, of course.

The meal we were sharing was… all in all, a torture. Jirall was sitting on the seat closets to me, and every time he let his eyes slide down my body line, it left an uncomfortable and violated feeling in my gut.

Most of my attention was focused on any amount of conversation going around the large dining table, but the less attention I paid to him, the more attention he paid to me, since he thought I wasn't paying attention to him. So if I gave him some of my acknowledgement every now and then (a small glance or a forced smile), it at least made him feel like he couldn't just stare at me like I wasn't noticing what he was doing.

The food was tasteless as it went into my mouth. I couldn't decide if I wanted to eat it quickly, but it wasn't like I was going to be able to excuse myself from the table, anyway. Then I would just be awkwardly sitting at the table, while trying to ignore Jirall's eyes on my low-cut bodice.

It was better to eat slowly, as in lack of something better to do. Now food was just being a preoccupation, since my hands and eyes needed to be doing and focusing on something. This was sad to me, since I normally enjoy my meal.

"You don't seem to be enjoying your meal, Lady Calista?" said Jirall, reaching out and putting a lock of stray hair back behind my ear. I had been happening to take a drink at the moment and nearly choked into my glass.

"The meal is lovely. I'm just a little out of sorts at the while. How are you fairing, Lord Jirall?"

"The meal is quite delicious, but in honesty, I keep getting distracted by you."

You don't say. I wouldn't have detected such a thing, besides the fact that your eyesight has been buried in my cleavage the entire banquet.

I smiled, and I think it accidentally came out more flirtatious than I would have ever intended. I think it was my inner pain breaking through, but he could tell himself what he would.

Looking up from my plate, I saw my Uncle looking at me from the other side of the table. He tilted his wineglass in my direction, and I made a point of _not_ smiling at him. We both stared at each other with hardened eyes until I finally dropped my gaze, admitting defeat.

When the meal was over, I tried to make an escape during the simplistic afterwards gathering. I headed up to the balcony behind the throne, revealing in the cool air on my heated skin.

Jirall. My betrothed.

It left a taste that was reminiscent of bile in the back of my throat, which I had to keep swallowing to make sure it stayed down there. I took a sip of wine, which would hopefully calm my stomach instead of rouse it.

It had not been the first time we've met, but this has been the worse of them all, since the arranged marriage had been truly stated official. He's even been given a room on the floor my quarters were on. It felt like it had happen like a snap of one's fingers – settled, without really any word on my part. But I'm sure he'd had a lot of say on it.

Not that I've ever been one allowed to 'take part' in political meetings. My opinion is not ever considered, and would never be valued while Uncle was still alive. I'm just a possession ready to be traded off to the highest bidder.

Of all people, why did it have to be him?

"Ah, there you are."

My body seized with the sound of that voice. I quickly straightened from leaning against the railing of the balcony. Not because I thought it was unladylike (which it was, no doubt) but because my breasts were accidentally spilling out a little farther than need be.

Damn my maid. I wasn't even allowed to look over my own dresses before they were pulled over my head. I'm sure this one was specially approved by Uncle himself.

Jirall moved to lean against the rail with me, where I had put my back against it. He was as close as he could possibly be without being on top of me.

I had begun holding my breath to keep my composure. Although it was probably making me a little light-headed. Or maybe that was the wine?

I set the flute on the wide rail besides me, as to not let that become anymore of a problem.

"Count Arganan told me that I would find you here. One of your favorite spots, perhaps?"

"I like the view."

"It's not a very nice view, although," he said, looking over his shoulder and crinkling his nose. "Just of the courtyard."

He has a problem with that, hm? It's not like I can request a change of scenery.

"Aren't you cold?" he said, sliding his fingers across the bare shoulders, making me flinch.

"The air is not that bad, actually."

"Ah, Calista, I wish _you_ wouldn't be so cold to me, then."

I didn't like that he had so intimately dropped my title now that we were alone. I should have used the cold excuse to go back inside.

"I'm sorry, Lord Jirall, but I suppose that I'm just a little shy."

My insides felt very torn between being polite to my future husband - because it's not like I had much of a choice – to telling him off and saying that there was no way in Hell that I would ever kiss him and say my vows to him.

But that wouldn't make my life much easier.

"If you wouldn't mind, Lord Jirall, I think the wine went straight to my head. I think I'll retire for the night."

Being a princess stuffed into tight dresses, I was used to men looking, stealing glances, or staring a little. Except there was something about the fact of Jirall's eyes not even having the decency to watch my face when I was talking. It made me roll my eyes – but it didn't matter, he wasn't going to notice.

"I'll walk you to your room," he said, a little drunkenly, perhaps.

"No, there is no need to you to spend your time. Good night." I made sure to put a sharp note in on that last line, to make sure he knew it was final.

I walked away in long strides, not looking in either direction as I headed for my room. I felt a chill on my back, as my Uncle watched me walk out of the party without his consent. But I refused to turn around.

Back in my room, I practically tore the dress off of me, not caring if it was left on the floor in tatters. I put on a nightgown with a high neck collar and fell a little below my knees. I made sure the door was locked a few times throughout my nightly routine, randomly becoming afraid that it wasn't really locked and someone would walk in on me.

When I was finally allowed to snuggle into the covers, I buried my head under the pillow. It was there that I let out a muffled sob.

The only thing I could possibly look forward to in this long, miserable marriage with him would be children (not that I was to think about the predecessor to that). Something to focus on and raise with compassion and love.

I just hoped that the children didn't look like him.

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Word Count: 1,290

Summary: Any time that I had to spend time with Jirall was Hell.

Note: I actually don't remember what view the balcony was facing... ^^;; (Thanks to author Therius for saying it faced it faced the city - that's what I was pretty sure of, but it fit the story a little better).

Please forgive any little mistakes like that. ^o^


	4. Runaway

Word Count: 897

She was all dressed-up to run away.

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Calista thought that today was a perfect day to make her escape.

The dress she'd chosen for the occasion was new – as blue as the bluebirds that were nesting in the trees in the courtyard. She paired it with the leather, knee-high boots that people around her had never deemed appropriate for her to wear. They were right through; they definitely didn't match the dresses they wanted to see her in.

The dress was very her. Intricate design, yet in a form of simple lacing and ribbing, with a high neck and long sleeves. It rode mid-thigh and perfectly showed off the boots she'd always wanted to dance around in.

Except, at this point, she didn't think they would be very easy dancing material. Since this was the first time she'd ever put them on, the leather was stiff and rubbed at her skin. She'd never experienced blistered and rub marks before, so she was willing to endure the pain.

She was a little stubborn like that.

There were many people coming in and out of the castle today, for the event tomorrow (she refused to acknowledge the true meaning of the 'event'). She put on her soft cloak and milled in with the people, trying to keep from looking into passerby's eyes while also vying to look inconspicuous.

Blending in was a trait she had learned when she was younger, when she was shy and able to disappear by hiding in a corner of a ballroom, against the prying eyes of people sizing her up and down for 'marriage' material.

It was her teen years that took that out of her. She became much more talkative seemingly against her will, started to enjoy hearing about stories from other lands from the visitors to the balls and her wooers from afar. She talked, and talked - until her practice of talking became an art. She could talk smoothly to any social status, nearly about any subject. She could strike up a conversation, revive a dead one, and make awkward bantering fun.

She phased once more in her late teens. Again, it didn't seem like it had been a choice on her part. She had become wiser, in a way, more aware and knowledgeable of the quizzical problems of the world. Plus, she was now able to understand the political game of the royalty.

It all made her become quieter, lost in thoughts that she wasn't able to voice with anyone, for no one would listen to her. They would tell her she shouldn't be thinking about such heavy topics, anyway.

She went to being more secluded in reading her books, strolling through the courtyard, or wandering the castle. Her voice was pleasantly soft whenever and whoever she talked to, but she dropped out of her practice of speech, and she suddenly wasn't the social butterfly that they had remembered from years before.

Calista had become the perfect little princess – quiet and demure, but if only her suitors knew what was really going on in her head. They wouldn't be able to catch up with her thoughts, and would be startled by the understanding and the intelligence in her words.

Although she couldn't blend into a crowd when she was the Princess - with her grandiose gowns and her silver hair splashing down her back - but she could fit in when she just Calista, in her simple, yet elegant, clothing and hair tucked away.

No one noticed her when she was 'just' Calista.

She walked by guards, maids and servants. She kept her eyes down, shoulders slumped, hands loose - like any good actor playing the part. She knew better than to be strutting down the steps with her head held high.

The only people she worried about passing were her Uncle, Sir Therius and General Asthar. They were the only people that would be paying enough attention to see through her disguise. Perhaps another would have been Jirall. She didn't have to worry about him, though. He wouldn't denounce himself enough to be walking amongst servants.

She held her breath as she walked out the door, giving off a carefree air and letting her wandering eyes bring in the scenery of the castle. The guard never even gave her a second look.

Calista couldn't really help giving herself a minor smirk when she walk out the doors, and yet at the same time, she realized that her legs had been shaking and she'd been holding her breath.

She didn't stop walking. She could see all the high housetops from here, and she wanted to be closer to them, as fast as possible.

The haste in her more stemmed from common sense than anything. She never wanted to head back, never wanted to be in those stifling walls called 'her home' ever again. And yet… she knew for a fact that she had to enjoy every moment of her planned freedom, because it wouldn't be forever until they found her.

Until they took her back to Jirall and her birdcage.

He would clip her wings first, making sure she'd never fly off again. Pull her bars closer and cut the leash on her leg shorter.

She felt an aching, numbing dread in her chest, but she surged forward anyway.

Because if that was all going to happen, then she was going to make this day count.


End file.
